


Of Kings and kingdoms tales

by LadyInfierno



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Awful narration, I don't really know how to tag this universe, Kings and Kingdoms, M/M, Pirates, PrUk Secret Santa 2017, kind of, merchants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyInfierno/pseuds/LadyInfierno
Summary: Wondering and wandering as he may be, the prince never stood a chance against what would inevitably be.





	Of Kings and kingdoms tales

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my very, very late gift for Emery! (@theoldbritishchap) I... don't really have an excuse, just that I'm a disappoinment like that and it's been a rough year so far :)  
> I really wanted to do every prompt you asked for, they were amazing! But _this one_ was perfect. I hope you like it, and have a wonderful year full of good things :D

Let me tell you a story.

A story about a young prince, who was supposed to turn into a king and never got the chance.

There wasn’t a reason, there wasn’t always one. The kings were good kings and the citizens good citizens, in their kingdom everything worked like that. But maybe it was precisely that gap, that _difference_ , the one little thing that would collapse the fragile system in which, without a doubt, the royal family was the more advantageous.

The prince never thought anything about it, that’s how things were and he was being educated, _trained_ , to maintain everything just that way. Lessons were to be learned and abilities to be acquired, schedules were programmed and, if anything, he was endorsed to read before going to sleep.

Please don’t feel bad for him yet, he lived a pretty comfortable life back then. He was a bit rude, a tad egoist, and a whole lot petulant. Back at the palace nobody with green eyes needed to _ask_ for what they wanted, things were constantly just offered to them, so they took them.

Ah, I forgot to tell you about the green eyes.

It may seem insignificant, different people may have different coloured eyes, I’m well aware, but what one day had been a family trait became so much more when rumours began to spread. “Ah, did you know? Every generation of royals has had green eyes so far, you would know one just by seeing them”, “Long time ago one of the Gods gifted the first son of a noble with eyes _too precious_ so they wouldn’t be mistaken for someone lesser”, and my personal favourite: “The royal family has magic flowing through their veins, their blood is red but you can see it _shining in their eyes_ ”.

It was just collective imagination, but the prince had once liked that last one _a lot_ , when he was little and fairy tales were real, when he was allowed to run down the palace’s gardens playing with his brothers. When life had been so easy and full of happiness that he didn’t need to know what happened to those kids outside who were born with his same eyes. How one day they were, and the next they _weren’t._

That green wouldn’t be that magical if everyone had it, right?

But the kings were just on their judgements, and you must know that the prince had a little brother, who happened to have _blue_ eyes and a shining smile and would follow him everywhere and they would laugh until their stomachs hurt and one day, when he asked his parents “where is Peter?”, the only answer he got was: “ _Who?”_. He learnt to never ask again.

That’s how magic becomes a curse and how children become adults.

Still, don’t feel sorry for him. He had the kind of life everyone outside desired, not even once had he known the ache of hunger, the burning pain of thirst. He was educated in the art of war, but he wasn’t forced to go die in the battlefield. (No one was forced, silly me, they were _obviously_ willing to die for their loved green eyed magic kings). The prince knew this, so he didn’t feel sorry for himself, and neither should you.

That just makes it worse, don’t you think? He _knew_ , and yet he did absolutely _nothing_ about it.

But it was just how things were. Just how his dear oldest brother had been _traded_ into a marriage to maintain a merchandise route between their kingdom and the one near the mountains when he was fifteen. She was twelve. At least he could bond with his new wife about something.

Allistor would have made an awful king. For their own kingdom, that’s it. Because he cared, and he usually shouted and broke things when he cared too much. (Those things involved but weren’t limited to furniture, bones and _promises_ ). With the little part of himself that still could, the prince hoped his brother would one day become the worst king their country would hear about; one that treated people like they were worth something.

He never saw him again, and it was better that way.

It was kind of a pattern, you see? How the only ones he held dearly just vanished one day from his life. Dylan was just one year younger than Allistor, and already in charge of battle strategies and tactics to use at the front. He was the one that still cried in his room when something went wrong and _their_ people died, the one sent to oversee a colonized territory. The only one who got to say goodbye.

It hadn’t hurt that much when, a year later, Aaron just _disappeared_. Questions were never asked.

By then there was only one successor to the throne. _Why, how_ and _when_ where inquiries he didn’t have, just did as he was told and always had a sweet smile for his mother, a humble bow for his father. There were rumours about him, still, from frightened servants who _swore_ upon their lives that the prince’s eyes didn’t have any magic, they had just hell fire.

And maybe they were right, but it was the kind of fire that consumed him from the inside, instead of spreading to his surroundings. A totally different kind of fire from the one currently devouring what was once his home.

Did you really think that people like that got to live happily ever after? Everything had a price, every subject of the kingdom knew it, so when soldiers started marching through their streets, chanting not _war_ but _revenge_ , not a single soul cried in behalf of the green eyed _monsters_ that were the objective. Let’s cleanse their sins. Let’s watch them burn.

-

There wasn’t a real reason to keep running, his whole life was being reduced to ashes to his back and it was, ironically, the only light source right then and there. The only thing to precariously light up his way through the crooked trees and irregular path, avoiding his fall. There wasn’t a particular thought in his mind, just the constant _thump, thump_ of his heartbeat against his temples, and the last word one of the cooks had told him: Run.

Would she be alright? The soldiers were looking for green, and she had the loveliest pair of brown eyes he had ever seen. Not that he had seen much. The prince then hoped again; for her to be safe, for the townspeople- _his_ people to be fine. For the first time in ages he felt something in his chest different to disgust and self-deprecation. It was the same feeling latched in his heart when he became the youngest brother –he wasn’t, he _wasn´t_ –.

He felt lost.

So he just kept running, and hoping – _for the last time_ – that it would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write comedy, I swear.


End file.
